


Lines In The Sand

by watanuki_sama



Series: Steeped In Sin [1]
Category: Common Law
Genre: 5+1 Fic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Demon!Wes, Gen, Some Swearing, but no real Wesvis, minor hints at Wesvis, some torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Wes was caught in a devil's trap, and one time he walked into it voluntarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines In The Sand

**Author's Note:**

> So mizufallfromkumo and allthatisbizarre on tumblr have been rattling this idea around of a demon!Wes AU. And they have such wonderful, beautiful ideas of how this world would work and everything, and I couldn’t help myself. I wrote a ficlet.
> 
> Based on one of the comments by allthatisbizarre. I wrote a 5+1 because I have a weakness for that format.
> 
>  
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr on 02.20.14.  
> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 03.05.14.

_“You need boundaries between you and the rest of the world. Other people are far too messy. It’s all about lines. Drawing lines in the sand and praying like hell no one crosses them.”_  
 _—Dr. Meredith Grey_

\---

1.

\---

He knows right away, the moment he steps into the house, and he sighs. “I hate people.”

Travis, ahead, stops and turns to see why he isn’t following. “What?”

“People.” Wes tilts his head back, glares at the black paint on the ceiling. “I hate people.”

Travis follows his gaze, and his lips twitch when he sees the devil’s trap painted above the doorway. The devil’s trap Wes walked right into because, like an idiot, he didn’t check the doorway because he was too busy trying to get Travis to shut up about his stupid conquest last night.

“Don’t say a word,” Wes growls as Travis wanders over.

His partner takes one look at his face and makes half an effort to smooth out his features. “Wasn’t planning on it, buddy.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Wes crosses his arms. “ _One word_ , Travis, and I’ll stab you. Someplace that will _hurt_.”

“Right, right, sure you will.” Travis waves it aside, knowing it’s an empty threat, and looks up at the ceiling. “You want me to get that, I’m gonna need a boost.”

Wes’s eye twitches. “You can’t get a chair or something?”

“It’s a crime scene, babe. Remember, the whole reason why we’re _here?_ ”

And that is a perfectly logical reason, so Wes growls and uncrosses his arms. At Travis’s gesture, he cups his hand. Travis’s boot fits perfectly, and he hoists his partner up.

“I ever tell you how sexy you are when you growl like that?” Travis asks, bracing himself with one hand against the ceiling as he pulls out his knife with the other.

“I will drop you on your ass, I swear.”

“But then you’ll be stuck here,” Travis says. He winks down at Wes. “But maybe that’s where I like you, trapped and powerless beneath me.”

“Oh my god, are you serious right now?”

“Just saying. All those times you throw me across the room and hold me down, I think you have a power kink. Might do you some good to reverse the roles, take the power away for a change.”

Wes shifts, drops his hand half a foot so Travis jerks. He doesn’t drop Travis, he would catch him if his partner lost balance, but it’s a warning. He _will_ drop Travis on his ass if he keeps this up, because there’s at least half a dozen officers in the kitchen waiting for them and this topic has gone on long enough.

Travis gets the message. “Okay, okay! I’ll shut up!” Another quick wink. “For now.”

Mollified—he knows that’s all he’s going to get out of Travis right now—Wes lifts Travis back to the ceiling. Quick and easy, Travis scrapes the knife against the paint, breaking the trap.

Wes unkindly deposits Travis back on the ground, but begrudgingly doesn’t dump him on his ass.

“Imagine if the ceiling were any higher,” Travis chirps as Wes heads down the hall. “I’d have to climb on you like a monkey. Wouldn’t that be _fun_.” He waggles his eyebrows in what he thinks is a leering manner.

Wes should have dropped him on his ass when he had the chance.

\---

2.

\---

The first thing Wes sees is bright light, blinding after the hours he spent locked in the dark.

The second thing he sees is his partner’s face grinning down at him, backlit by the sun.

“I hate you,” he says, the words flowing out easy as breathing. Easier, since Wes doesn’t even need to do that much.

Travis just keeps grinning, leaning against the trunk and staring down at Wes. “Now, I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say to someone who just spent three hours finding you.”

“I hate you for taking _three hours_ , you bastard.” Wes shifts, and something, a tire iron maybe, digs painfully into his ribs. “Do you know how long I was locked in the trunk? _Three hours_.”

“Well, if you just kept your phone on you…”

“They _took_ my phone, you bastard!” Wes glares at the lid of the trunk, at the black devil’s trap drawn on the underside, just barely visible against the black fabric. “Will you just break this already?”

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a second.” Travis steps back, and Wes squints to try and see what Travis is doing.

“What are you—oh, no, don’t you _dare_ —”

There’s the click of a shutter, and then Travis is back, smirking at his phone. “An excellent shot, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m going to break that into a thousand pieces and make you _eat_ them, you asshole.”

“And another one for posterity…” Another shutter click, and then Travis leans against the car, fingers tapping away at his phone.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Emailing them to our coworkers.” Travis grins, bright and sunny, perfectly innocent except for the deviant smirk in his eyes. “They’re always looking for new dirt on you, and you know how happy I am to oblige.”

“I’m going to _murder you_ in your _sleep_.”

“Alright!” Travis snaps his phone off, shoves it in his pocket. “Now, how do we ask nicely to get out of the devil’s trap, buddy?”

“ _Get me out of here_.”

“I didn’t hear the magic word…”

“I swear to god I will _rip your face off_ and _shove it up your_ —”

“Wes!” Travis makes a scandalized face, pulling out his knife. “Watch your language. There could be children around!”

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna show those children what being a grown-up asshole results in,” Wes grumbles as Travis breaks the trap. As soon as he’s free, he launches out of the trunk, tackling Travis to the ground and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Sitting square on Travis’s chest, he finds the pictures and deletes them. And then he searches Travis’s email, ignoring the pained squawking below him.

“You didn’t send any emails,” he says after a moment, glaring at his partner.

“You thought I would?” Travis gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. “Wes, that _hurts_! I thought we had _trust_!”

Scowling, Wes stands, tossing the phone at his partner. “I can’t believe you…”

Travis just grins, climbing to his feet. “You know you love me.” Picking up his phone, he checks it for damages. “By the way, we got the guys who stuffed you in there. You wanna go interrogate them with me?”

Wes feels a feral, dark grin cross his lips. “Do I ever.”

\---

3.

\---

It’s official. Travis is an asshole.

“Travis, don’t leave me here.” He’d been distracted, not paying attention, and as such walked right into the devil’s trap on the landing. He hadn’t been expecting it; most people put devil’s traps right at their entrances, and who puts it in the middle of their stairs? And under carpeting? Smart idea, that, but seriously.

Wes glares at the pulled-up carpet at his feet, at the paint on the hardwood underneath, then glares at his partner’s retreating back. “I’m serious, Travis, don’t you _dare_ leave me here!”

The officer with Travis turns to look at him. Travis doesn’t even act like he hears Wes. The bastard.

“Travis Marks!”

The officer turns to Travis, taps him on the shoulder. “Um, your partner—”

“I don’t have a partner,” Travis says jovially, cresting the stairs. “My partner is dead to me. He can _rot in Hell_ for all I care.”

“Seriously? That’s what this is about?” Wes stomps a foot, which would be a lot more menacing if he wasn’t trapped in three square feet on the landing. “You petty, selfish _child!_ ”

“What was that?” Travis holds his hand to his ear, pauses. “It sure wasn’t my partner, who is _dead to me!_ ” Grabbing the officer by the arm, he hauls her down the hall and into the bedroom where their victim is lying. “Come, show me the body.”

Wes pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath. Then another. Nothing so meager as counting to ten will work, so he counts to a hundred.

There are officers at the base of the stairs and officers upstairs and they are all probably laughing at him because his so-called _partner_ is an absolute _asshole_. And none of them will do anything because it’s an unspoken rule that Travis is the one who deals with this sort of thing and why the _fuck_ did he get partnered with that overgrown adolescent again?

“Travis,” he calls with a sigh, “I’m sorry!”

There’s a long moment of silence.

Then Travis’s head pops out behind the wall. “Could you repeat that?”

“I’m sorry, okay? Now will you let me out?”

Travis strolls into the hallway, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know…do you even know what you’re apologizing _for_? How can I know you’re sincere if you don’t tell me what you’re sorry _for_?”

Oh this little…

“I am _sorry_ ,” Wes mutters through gritted teeth, “for calling your bike a stupid, useless piece of shit. And if you don’t let me out _right now_ , I will break into your house tonight and strangle you with your own intestines.”

Travis brightens like that’s the best thing he’s heard all day. “Aww, babe, that’s all I ever wanted from you.” He skips—fucking _skips_ —down the stairs, pulling a knife from his belt. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks as he kneels, scraping the paint with his blade. “And if you’d apologized an hour ago, none of this would have had to happen.”

“I lied,” Wes snarls, storming out of the trap. “Your stupid bike _is_ a useless piece of shit.”

“Come on, you really thought I expected sincerity? From you?” Travis chortles, sliding the knife back into his belt and following Wes up the stairs. “Babe, just the words were enough.”

Wes stomps into the bedroom, not even phased by the blood spattered about the room. He waits half a heartbeat, then waves his hand.

The door slams shut behind him, and Travis curses as he walks into it. Wes smirks.

\---

4.

\---

“A fucking _ballroom_ , man,” Travis grumbles, crouching next to the victim. “I used to hate people with money like this, you know? Shoving it in the face of everyone who’s not on their tax bracket. I mean, who even _needs_ a goddamn ballroom?”

“He got it from a deal,” Wes says absently, following drag marks across the room. “So it hardly counts.”

Travis looks up. “Really?”

“The huge hellhound claw marks weren’t a clue?” Wes asks in his _You’re so stupid sometimes I wonder why I stay with you_ voice.

Travis studies the great gouges in the floor. “You may have a point. Poor guy should have invested in a lot more goofer dust.” Then he snickers.

Wes rolls his eyes. “Someday you _will_ grow up and stop giggling like a teenage boy when you say that word.”

“But not today!” Travis chirps brightly, bending to study something.

Wes continues to follow the drag marks until he can’t anymore. He blinks, stares at the floor, but aside from a smear of blood and the aforementioned claw marks, there’s nothing there. He blinks again, looks up at the ceiling. Nothing up there, just a huge-ass chandelier and a decorative beveled ceiling that in no resembles a—

Oh. Wow.

“Dammit.”

Travis looks up. “What is it?”

Scowling, Wes points above his head.

Travis hops to his feet and strolls over, easy as can be. Hands in his pocket, he peers at the ceiling. “What?”

Pacing the narrow space, Wes growls, “The chandelier.”

His partner peers at the ugly decorative ornament. Wes knows the moment he gets it, sees his eyes widen in startled glee. “Oh god, that’s brilliant. A devil’s trap made from the frame. That’s too perfect.” And then he starts laughing, the bastard.

“It’s not funny, Travis.” Wes shoves him; Travis almost falls down, he’s laughing so hard. “These people are getting _clever_. It’s fucking annoying, you know that?”

“Oh my god, that’s the best thing ever,” Travis gasps, because he is a bastard of the highest degree and doesn’t have any heart. “Oh, wow. I should get a picture of your face.”

“You pull out your phone, I’ll shove it down your throat.”

“Fine, fine.” Still gasping for breath, Travis wipes his eyes. “No, that was great. Thank you, I needed that laugh.” Stepping back, he looks at the chandelier. “But seriously, how am I supposed to break that?”

“I don’t know. Find the switch, lower it down. Break the chain.”

And then Travis gets a truly frightening grin on his face. “Hey, the crime scene guys have already taken their photos and stuff, right? We’ve collected all the evidence and all?”

“Yes, but whatever you’re thinking of doing, _don’t_.”

“Good.” Ignoring Wes, Travis pulls out his radio. “Hey, guys, you’re gonna hear a shot. Just letting you know, it’s all good.”

“Travis—”

Travis pulls out his gun, aims, and fires.

A chain snaps. The whole chandelier does not come crashing down, like Wes expected, but one of the lower tiers comes loose in a shatter of glass. Luckily, it’s enough to break the circle, and Wes dives out of the way.

Travis, standing well back, grins. “You good? I didn’t damage your pretty face, did I?”

Wes growls, pulling himself to his feet. “You’re a reckless idiot.”

Travis just keeps grinning. “You know you love me.”

\---

5.

\---

“I’m going to kill you,” Wes promises, straining against the rope with everything he’s got. “I’m going to rip you apart slowly, tear you limb from limb and set you on _fire_.”

The men in front of him—hunters, he can tell, they all have the same _look_ —laugh, sharing a glance. “Yeah, sure you are,” one of them says, spitting a wad that flies through the circle and lands on Wes’s shoe. He’s too enraged to care. “Come on over, black-eyes, you can do whatever you want. Oh wait, I forgot. You _can’t_.”

Wes snarls, nearly wrenching something as he attempts to lunge at the bastard.

Spitter steps back, moving to the other chair. The one Travis is tied to, groggy and dazed and bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds. “You need to learn a lesson, black-eyed bitch,” he says, flexing his fingers. “Show you what happens when you wander around topside.”

Wes flinches when Spitter slams his fist into Travis’s stomach, his partner’s grunt affecting him as though he’d been hit himself.

“So take it out on me!” he hollars, sounding close to a wail than he’s comfortable with. “I’m the one you hate, so punish me. He’s human! Leave him alone!”

“He ain’t human,” the other hunter says, dancing in place like he’s on something. “He’s a traitor, running ‘round with _you_. Needs to be taught a lesson too.”

Spitter hits Travis again, and Wes makes an anguished sound. “I tricked him!” he shouts, ignoring the desperation in his voice. “I seduced him, I lied to him, I bewitched him. He has nothing to do with it. Leave him _alone!_ ”

The punches stop, and Spitter yanks Travis’s head up by his hair. “That true?”

Travis’s throat bobs, and he looks confused, eyes flicking towards Wes.

_Say yes_ , he prays, _just say yes. I can handle it. Say yes._

Travis looks at Spitter and takes a page from his book—he spits right in the hunter’s face.

The hunter reels back, wiping his face with disgust. “Well, then, I guess we’ll just have to up the ante.” He bends down, picks up a pipe from the ground. “Really teach you what being a blood traitor means.”

He advances, pipe raised above his head, and Travis glares defiantly up at him, and all Wes can do is struggle fruitlessly, yanking at the damn bonds and _don’t do this, god, please, not Travis_ , and he doesn’t know if anyone is listening to a demon’s prayers but _please_ —

There’s a shot, and Spitter stumbles to a halt, staring down at his chest. He tumbles to his knees first, then slumps down, a red patch slowly forming on his chest.

Twitchy jerks, tries to run, but Travis’s gun swings around and he falls too.

Wes can only stare as Travis hobbles to his feet, shuffling around the dead hunters to the circle. “Fucking bastards, do you know how much pain I’m in right now? Goddammit…” He glares at the floor, then just shoots another bullet into the paint.

Wes snaps the rope the second his abilities come back, launching out of his seat to grab Travis. He ignores his own burns (fucking holy water) and cradles his partner against his chest, fingers running over Travis to check the wounds. Bruises and contusions and cuts but nothing _serious_ , nothing Travis can’t come back from _thank god_.

“How did you…?” is all he gets out, because the relief is overwhelming and that’s really all he can get out.

Travis gives him a crooked little grin. “Idiots cuffed me with my own cuffs. I always have a spare key and about six paperclips on me. Ow, I hurt all over…”

“We need to get you to the hospital,” Wes says, panicking a little because he doesn’t know what to do with squishy injured _human_ bodies, he has no idea and he doesn’t know how to fix this and it’s _Travis_ , Travis is injured (because of _him_ ) and Travis needs help—

“Wes.” Travis’s hand is firm on his arm, and Wes stops abruptly, staring at Travis. He didn’t even realize he’d been dragging Travis along like a sack of potatoes until he stopped.

“Wes,” Travis repeats, face shadowed with something Wes can’t name. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give yourself up for me.”

“I can take it,” Wes says, all confidence because he’s not human, he can handle anything they throw at him, but Travis is _all_ human and he’s so _fragile_ and sometimes Wes forgets that.

“No.” Travis shakes his head with a wince. “You don’t get to take it just because you can. You just…you _don’t_.” His grip tightens, and he gives Wes’s arm a half-hearted shake. “You’re my _partner_ , Wes. You think it wouldn’t tear me up just as much to see them torturing you?”

Wes’s throat is tight, and he says nothing because he doesn’t know what he could say.

“You just…” Travis sighs, slumping against him. “You don’t get to do that, man.”

Something bubbles up in Wes’s chest, something warm and pure. Something he’s not going to name right now, not yet.

He shifts his grip, tucks Travis a little more gently against his side, and moves a little slower this time. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

\---

+1.

\---

He sees the child’s face, and something in him twinges, something most of his demonic kin wouldn’t recognize. The boy is only three, four maybe, and there are tears streaking down his face but he doesn’t make a sound. Hasn’t made a sound since they walked into the room.

Travis is trying to coax the kid out of the pantry, but it’s no use, the boy is immobile, staring at Wes with blank, terrified eyes.

He _knows_. He just looks at Wes and he _knows_ , and he’s not moving because of it.

Wes looks around the room, at the carnage wrought by another demon—one that isn’t as civilized as Wes is. The remains of two bodies—remains, because they’re not bodies anymore—are scattered around the room, and it’s amazing how much blood a body can hold when it’s splattered so haphazardly.

These two people were killed, brutally, with no mercy or remorse. And this child saw it all happen, peering through the slats in the pantry doors.

He’s not going to move as long as Wes is here.

“Come on,” Travis coos, wiggling his fingers coaxingly, “it’s alright, we’re here to help—”

“Travis, draw a trap,” Wes orders.

Travis looks up. “Wes?”

Wes nods subtly towards the boy, conveying everything he needs to without using a word. “Draw a devil’s trap, Travis.”

It only takes a moment for understanding to dawn, because (occasionally) Travis is brilliant like that. But he doesn’t leap up and do it. “Are you sure…?”

“Would I be asking if I was sure? Just do it already, will you?” Wes crosses his arms and tries not to scowl too alarmingly. The child is still watching him, and Wes didn’t do this but he could all too easily add to the trauma.

“Okay.” Nodding, Travis slowly rises. “Okay.” He pulls his knife from his belt, keeping it hidden from the boy, because Travis understands too—the kid’s had enough trauma for one day.

Travis scratches a trap quickly into the floor, showing ease of use even though he’s never, to Wes’s knowledge, drawn one before. It’s small, barely two feet wide, but it’s perfect and effective at what it needs to do.

“Do you know what that is?” Travis asks the kid softly, slowly kneeling outside the pantry.

For the first time, the boy takes his gaze of Wes to stares at the scratched lines in the floor. After a second, he nods, a movement so slight they would have missed it if they hadn’t been watching for it.

“Good, good. Then you know it’s a magic circle. A very special circle that locks demons up tight and won’t let them out.” Travis glances at Wes then, eyes saying, _Are you sure?_ “And you know that if a demon is stuck in there, it can’t hurt anyone.”

Another miniscule nod.

Wes blinks at his partner, conveying a silent, _I’m sure, do what you need to._

And he steps into the circle.

“See?” Travis coos, using his soothing _Talking to small animals_ voice, the one that’s particularly effective against skittish children. Wes has seen it used before; it’s remarkably effective. Wes couldn’t fake it if he tried. “See, the big scary demon is stuck now. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt anyone.”

No need to mention that Wes wasn’t _going_ to hurt anyone. That wouldn’t make a difference in the slightest and they both know it.

“It’s okay,” Travis urges, holding out his hand again. “It’s all okay, so how ‘bout you come out and we get you somewhere safe? Okay? Somewhere where no one can hurt you again.”

The boy continues to stare at Wes, eyes wide and scared. But slowly, his gaze wanders down to the circle around Wes’s feet, keeping him trapped.

And slowly, his hand reaches out and slides into Travis’s.

“Good boy,” Travis says, cautiously scooping the boy onto his shoulder. “Good, good boy. Let’s get you out of here.” Tucking the kid’s head against his shoulder so he can’t see the carnage, Travis walks towards the living room, sidestepping the blood and gore splashed everywhere. _I’ll be back for you, partner_ , he mouths, waiting for Wes’s affirmative nod before exiting the room.

Wes tucks his hands in his pockets and tilts his head back, closing his eyes against the overwhelming scent of blood in the room, and waits for his partner to return.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote is taken from the Grey’s Anatomy episode “The First Cut Is The Deepest.”


End file.
